Flourish
by Corpse in a Coffin
Summary: It is true that all children are special and all people have great influences on one another, but there are some people in the Wizarding community who would say that the new students of 1991 had an even bigger influence than per usual. A collection of one-shots for the 1991 Challenge.
1. Dean Thomas

Hey there! This is my first chapter on FFN, but I've been here (as a reader) for a really long time now.

This was done for The 1991 Challenge by RavenclawDoctorSilveo, using the character Dean Thomas and prompt "coffee." This one-shot will also be added to the As Much as You Can Competition by A Carrot in the Dark.

Legal Stuff: I do not own Harry Potter and the only "profit" I'm making is personal satisfaction.

XXX

The smell of coffee brewed by Mrs. Thomas still lingered in the kitchen when Dean went to wait for breakfast.

He had barely had any sleep at all, tormenting himself with how he was going to survive at a boarding school outside of England, wondering if he just had yet to wake up from a dream, wondering if anyone else there supported West Ham (well, surely _someone_ there did, but . . .). It hadn't been until the wee hours of the night when he had finally fallen asleep, and then he had woken up earlier than any child had the right to wake up, anxiously awaiting the time when it would be more appropriate for him to venture out of his room.

It was the morning of September 1, and the Thomas family would be making their way to King's Cross Station so that Dean could board the train that would then take him to a school that would teach him how to hone his powers as a wizard and loads of other cool junk. Professor Sprout had told him the classes he would be taking and he couldn't be happier. There would be no stupid English teachers to look over his shoulder while he got the answers wrong anymore!

But there _would_ be a professor for Transfiguration, and one for Charms, and another for Potions, and yet another for Astronomy, and so on. Dean had to wonder if they would be anything like their Muggle counterparts (from the way Professor Sprout had explained it, they would be), but the bigger question was how he was going to fare when so many of his classmates would have grown up knowing about magic, already knowing how to cast magic. This was a fear that he had not expressed to Professor Sprout or to his parents, as he was trying to ignore it for as long as he possibly could.

"Good morning, Dean," said his mother as he walked into the kitchen. She was setting aside eggs to start cooking breakfast.

He felt rather queasy at the sight of food. Dean was not a nervous person by nature, but his anxiety was mounting as the seconds passed by. "'Morning," he mumbled, and he hoped that she had not heard the unhappiness in his voice.

She glanced at him and frowned, and Dean could only assume that she could tell he was nervous.

"Don't worry," she said soothingly. "This school sounds fun. I'm sure you'll make many new friends."

Dean didn't answer right away. Perhaps he should confess his fear of failing all of his classes - but no, there was no point in doing that. There was no way Mrs Thomas would be able to sympathize with something like that when she herself had done so brilliantly in school - even in English! Instead, he smiled at her. "Who's worried? I'm not."

She _hummed_ and began cracking the eggs into the frying pan. Dean sat down at the table and began tracing his finger along the golden pattern like he always did when he was bored. Aside from the sound of the eggs cooking, the house was relatively silent until -

"BREE, GIVE ME THAT!"

"NO DEE, IT'S MINE! DADDY GAVE IT TO ME!"

"NO, HE GAVE IT TO BOTH OF US, AND YOU HAD YOUR TURN LAST NIGHT!"

"NUH-UH!"

"UH-HUH!"

Abruptly, the shouting between the sisters stopped, and Dean could vaguely make out his father's voice. As Bree and Dee were the most annoying of his siblings, he usually cherished any time that they got themselves in trouble (for that was no doubt what was going on up above the kitchen), but he found that his increasing nervousness about the day that was ahead of him prohibited his usual feelings.

Once all seven members of the Thomas family sat down at the breakfast table to eat, the discussion turned to what Dean's school was going to be like.

"What does it look like?" asked Bree, whose spirits were never dampened after being scolded.

"I don't know. Never been."

"Why can't I go?" whined the youngest daughter, Monique.

"You ain't old enough," answered Mr Thomas. "And we don't even know if you're magic yet."

"Aunt Amy says I'm magical."

Mr Thomas coughed. "Yes, of course you are. But this is a different kind of magic."

"What _kind_ of magic?"

While Mr and Mrs Thomas tried to explain real magic to Monique, and the other girls went off on what they would do if _they_ were going to a magic school, Dean picked at his scrambled eggs and tried not to think about anything at all.

When it was finally time to leave, Mr Thomas followed Dean into his room so that the two of them could make sure that he had everything he needed for both the train ride and the his first term. When they were sure that he did Dean loaded everything into the trunk of the car and said his final goodbyes to his sisters while Mr Thomas ran over to old Mrs Applebaum's apartment to tell her that it was time to come and watch Dean's sisters while they were gone.

Once everything was settled, Dean and his parents climbed into the family car and traveled to King's Cross Station. It wasn't such a long drive as they lived in London, to which Dean was grateful for-he _hated_ car rides.

When they finally arrived, an alien calmness had settled upon Dean's shoulders. He knew that his nerves would return the closer he got to Scotland, but for the time being he was grateful that he wasn't so worried. They did not struggle to find Platform 9 ¾, as that was the parting information Professor Sprout had left them with.

Mrs Thomas was more emotional than either her husband or her son. They had not initially been planning on sending Dean off to a boarding school and the thought of being away from him for so long was not one that she found pleasant. She clung to him and hugged him and wished him well-wishes over and over again, but she did not cry. When she finally pulled herself away Mr Thomas clapped his son on the shoulder and gave him a hearty goodbye and good luck. When he got on the train his mother yelled at him to write as soon as he got there, and then he went to find a compartment.

Though Dean was by no means a shy person, he didn't feel like socializing with any of his fellow first-years quite then. He counted himself lucky when he found a compartment towards the front of the train that had not been claimed by any of the other students. In fact, he was able to count himself lucky for several minutes after that, all the way up until the train was starting to pull away, when a sandy-haired, freckled boy opened his compartment.

The boy smiled sheepishly at him. "Mind if I sit here?"

"No," said Dean.

"Excellent! I'm Seamus Finnigan, by the way. You?"

"Dean Thomas."

Seamus nodded in such a way that made Dean think that his name had solved a world problem. "Are you Muggle-born?"

_Muggle-born._ That was a term that Professor Sprout had used to describe someone that was born to non-magical parents, he recalled. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "My dad ran off on my mum when I was young. We don't know if he was a wizard or not."

"Hmm."

"You?"

"I'm half and half. Me mam's a witch and me dad's a Muggle."

"What's that like?" asked Dean. The prospect of having a witch and a "normal" person for parents was interesting.

Seamus shrugged. "Well, I s'pose it's good. I get to see a bit of both sides, don't I? Not everyone can do that. What's it like growing up with Muggles?"

Dean wasn't entirely sure how to answer Seamus' question. "Um . . . not magical?"

"Guess so," Seamus snorted. "Any siblings?"

"Yes," said Dean, "Four sisters."

"Four _sisters_?" Seamus was struck momentarily speechless for a minute before exclaiming, "But that's too many!"

Dean nodded. "It's horrible. What about you? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, I'm the only one me parents had. Blimey, I do wish I had a brother, though."

"I don't know," said Dean uncertainly, "siblings are nothing but trouble."

Seamus waved his hand dismissively. "No offense, mate, but you only have _sisters_. Girls are different from boys."

"Maybe."

From there, Dean and Seamus continued talking about everything they could think of. Dean squeezed all the information he possibly could about the Wizarding world out of Seamus, and Seamus did the same to Dean about the Muggle world (in fact, Seamus seemed to be a very inquisitive individual and asked a _lot_ of questions about the Muggle world). At some point during the ride - they had lost track of the time - a round-faced boy named Neville Longbottom and a bushy-haired girl named Hermione Granger came into their corridor to ask about the former's missing toad, and when the trolley came 'round Seamus introduced Dean to his favorite sweet, licorice wands.

When the light outside the window started to die down, Seamus suggested that it was time for them to change into their uniforms. They did so in their compartment, laughing and joking about one thing and the other, and then when they were done Seamus asked, "What House do you think you'll get in?"

Dean knew about the Houses, but he had no idea what to answer. Professor Sprout had built Hufflepuff up rather nicely, and Dean was sure that he would be in neither Ravenclaw nor Slytherin, so he could only assume that that he'd either be in Professor Sprout's old House or in the only remaining one, Gryffindor. As he thought about it, he began to wonder if there was even a place for him at Hogwarts. What if it had all been a mistake? What would happen then? That would be humiliating!

Instead of answering, Dean asked Seamus where he thought he'd go.

"Gryffindor, I hope," he answered. "Mam was a Gryffindor, and so was me aunt and cousin, though me uncle was in Hufflepuff."

"What happens if you aren't picked for any of them?"

"Oh, everyone's picked for everything, no matter what," said Seamus, and he sounded so sure of himself that Dean's fears were immediately dispelled. "Sometimes it takes longer to Sort you out, but in the end everybody goes somewhere."

"Hmm."

It was at that precise moment that the train started to slow down.

"We're here," said Seamus.

Dean, whose anxiety had returned full-throttle, gulped. He and Seamus followed the rest of the students out of the train and onto the platform, where all the first-years gathered together with a man so humongous that Dean was momentarily distracted by his panic. The large man led them down to several canoes and instructed four to get in a boat. Dean and Seamus climbed in with two other children who introduced themselves as Stephen Cornfoot and Kevin Entwhistle, and then they were off.

Hogwarts was even more magnificent than what Dean had imagined it to be.

When he and the rest of his classmates were left in the Entrance Hall, Seamus did most of the talking. Dean couldn't bring himself to say much at all when he felt that his stomach was about to collapse inside of him. When the doors opened and they walked into the Great Hall, he kept his eyes down throughout the Hat's song and through Professor McGonagall's explanation until the first student was called to the stool.

He was briefly relieved that it did not seem to be a challenge at all to get Sorted - all you had to do was put on an old hat!

Seamus was called fairly quickly. It didn't take long for the Hat to yell out, "GRYFFINDOR!" Dean had to admit, watching his new friend's relieved face, that he was glad for him. It suddenly occurred to him that he hoped he was in Gryffindor, too; at least then he would have an ally.

Several more were called, but the names faded in and out of his head. The only one that really stuck out was "Potter, Harry," because he had gotten one heck of an applause for being Sorted into Gryffindor. Dean made a mental note to ask around about that.

And then, finally, Professor McGonagall said, "Thomas, Dean!"

Dean could feel the eyes of the entire congregation of students and teachers upon him as he approached the dirty hat. He sat stiffly down as Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head and felt thankful that it slid below his eyes so that he did not have to watch people watching him.

"Hmm, what do we have hear?" said a voice.

Dean jumped.

"Not to worry boy, not to worry. It's just me! Let's see, let's see . . . you can't be said to have a shabby mind, can you? No, there's a willingness to learn . . . though perhaps more of a willingness to, as they say, _goof off_. Not Hufflepuff, I don't think. Not Slytherin, either, no . . . well, that leaves that, then . . . GRYFFINDOR!"

For a moment Dean sat still as his Housemates applauded their newest addition, but then he got up, placed the Hat on the stool, and went to join his friend at the table.

"Good job," said Seamus, smiling.

Dean, who felt as though he had a considerable less amount of worries now that he had been accepted into one of the Houses, grinned and said, "You too."

Once the rest of the kids were Sorted and the headmaster made a couple of "announcements," everyone was allowed to start eating. Dean was feeling much more social than he had been on the train and started talking to some of the other students in his immediate vicinity. By the time they were all stuffed full and he doubted he would be ready to eat in the morning, all of the food disappeared just as it had appeared to begin with - which, by the way, was pretty cool - and Dumbledore made a few _real _announcements. After that he and the rest of the first-years followed a prefect up several stairs - that _moved_! - all the way to a portrait of a larger woman that the prefect called the Fat Lady. He gave her the password and she swung open, allowing them to climb inside. . . .

The Gryffindor common room was very _homey_, he had to admit, and also showed a great deal of House spirit, donned all in red and gold. There was a fire place that several upperclassmen surrounded and many comfy-looking sofas and chairs. Percy directed the boys and the girls to the stairs that they had to take to get to their dormitories.

The dormitory, much like the common room, was very roomy - but Dean didn't really feel like taking it all in at the time. He was tired . . . very, very tired. He got to the bed that was marked as his, judging by where his trunk was, changed, and fell onto the covers.

He couldn't help but think that even if he _did _suck at magic, at least he had made a really good friend in Seamus Finnigan.


	2. Terry Boot

I was pretty swamped at the time of writing this and have since lost inspiration for this challenge (I know, that's pathetic, with only two stories under my belt). But that's how the cookie crumbles.

This was written for the 1991 Challenge by RavenclawDoctorSilveo, using the character Terry Boot and the prompt "scar." This one-shot will also be added to the As Much As You Can Competition by A Carrot in the Dark.

Rating: T  
Summary: They had been without news for months. For all anyone knew Harry Potter had already been killed - but that was unlikely, seeing as how You Know Who would have flaunted his enemy's body to the whole of Britain. Even still, he knew that the mention of Potter, alive and well, would give people hope . . . and hope was a necessity.  
Inspired By: "Is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It's everywhere, everyone's talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by the Carrows for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!" - Neville Longbottom

XXX

The story itself was sensational, because never before in _history_ had anyone stolen something out of Gringotts Bank and escaped with it. The closest anyone had ever come was Terry's former professor Quirrell, who had been instructed to do so by You Know Who himself in 1991. When one added that it was _Harry Potter_, the Chosen One, everything became even more exciting. Everyone knew that Potter and his friends were off fighting You Know Who somewhere, and everyone knew that the Lestranges were deep into the Dark Arts as well as open Death Eaters.

What it _was _hardly mattered; they did it. It was an attack against You Know Who, or at the very least one of his most favored followers. It gave hope to those who fought against the Dark Lord, even if it was the smallest of rays . . . and that was why it had to be known.

It was a clear, starry sky that night. The students filled the Great Hall silently and quickly, as they all did since the Carrows' reign on the school. Terry kept thinking.

"_I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it. People should know -"_

"_They already know, Terry, _everyone_ knows!"_

_"That doesn't mean that we should stay silent about it."_

_"No, it means that everyone knows, so don't go looking for trouble with the Carrows!"_

And on and on they had went in their dormitory, until finally Terry had conceded. Now, when he was being tempted by the large audience in the Great Hall, he felt that it was Michael and Anthony that were the dumb ones, not him.

He sat down between his friends, feeling rather removed from everything around him. It was almost as though he wasn't really there at all, that nothing could hurt him anymore. (Of course, anything could hurt him, but would it really?) Terry was so tired. Tired of everything.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was standing up from his seat. Michael tried grabbing his sleeve but Terry swiped it away angrily. The hot flare of emotion disappeared immediately, however, as he began to approach the foot of Snape's chair.

_A throne_, he thought absently.

It did not take long for the rest of the Hogwarts body to cotton on to what was happening. Terry was distantly aware of a thousand eyes on him.

He stared at Snape, the man who had taught him how to make potions for five years. It was a ridiculous thought; why was he thinking of _potions_ at a time like that, rather than the death of Dumbledore? No matter.

"Sit down, brat."

Terry's eyes slowly shifted over to see the speaker: Alecto Carrow. That bitch.

And suddenly, he felt as though his entire body had been lit aflame. How dare trash like that speak to him? He was angry, so incredibly angry, he _hated_ her, he hated them -

"Harry Potter broke into Gringotts this morning!" he yelled.

The Hall was filled with a white-hot silence and his angry breathing. The students tensed, waiting for the Carrows' attack, but nothing happened.

Terry still felt so far away.

"He went to the Lestrange's vault. He stole something there, something important. Everyone knows Bellatrix Lestrange is in You Know Who's inner-circle, maybe it's even related to _him_. He's on the move, Harry's on the move, he's going to get rid of that bitch up there -"

"_CRUCIO!"_

He did not have time to register who had cast the spell before it was all over him, consuming him. What was he? He couldn't remember. He couldn't feel the floor beneath him or how his mouth stretched to emit his screams. He did not exist, as far as he was concerned. Perhaps pain didn't even exist, and that this was simply what non-existence felt like.

Then the pain stopped, leaving a dull thudding all around his body. In fact, perhaps even that was wrong; perhaps the entire Great Hall was thudding along with the pain, in tune with it, _boom_, _boom_, _boom_. . . .

"Don't do that in here," he could hear someone growl. It was so far away. "Take him to the dungeons if you must."

"Fine," said a voice - it was the same voice as the one who had shouted the curse. Probably. Feminine. . . .

"We'll go," said another. A man.

Then he was aware of being dragged from the Great Hall, but everything hurt too much for him to understand what was going on or how. All he was truly aware of was that they were going down, down, down. . . .

By the time he finally became aware of his surroundings, he was in the torture chamber with the Carrows. He had been placed, like an object, in the corner, while the siblings decided how they wanted to inflict pain on him. When Amycus finally pointed his wand at Terry, all he could think about was how he was probably going to receive a scar for his efforts.

It was worth it.


End file.
